


Happy Birthday, Chairface

by IrisoPage



Category: The Tick (TV 1994), The Tick - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Sex, Object Head, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader has a vagina, Reader-Insert, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrisoPage/pseuds/IrisoPage
Summary: Reader is a supervillain and gets invited to Chairface Chippendale's birthday party. Y'know, the one where he tries to carve his name into the moon. Reader doesn't have anything to give him, so Birthday Sex seems like the perfect gift.
Relationships: Chairface Chippendale (The Tick)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Happy Birthday, Chairface

**Author's Note:**

> The premise on which you're fucking is just as weird as the cartoon, but, hey, you're the one reading this ;)  
> This is completely self indulgent.
> 
> Thanks to my writing consultants Doony and Xeno for proofreading and putting up with my thirst for a chair!

"Bill, Bill...why do I keep getting Bill's mail?" 

You flip through your mail, tossing this and that into the shredder. 

You come across a maroon envelope with a fancy seal, in the shape of a chair…

You suspect it's just spam, but remember it's not Presidents' Day or Labor Day or any other day where they sell discount furniture.

So, you open it.

_ 'Happy Birthday to Me.' _

You think you preferred getting Bill's mail.

_ 'You are cordially invited to a birthday party for the world's greatest criminal mastermind.' _

What an asshole.

_ 'Gift Required' _

Pompous Rich Asshole.

_ 'Come see me commit the most daring, spectacular crime of this, or any other century.' _

How did a man with a chair for a face even get so wealthy? Embezzlement, most likely.

You didn't have time, nor the fucks to get this man a gift. So you made him a coupon book. You figured a super villain as evil as he was, he would be too busy to use them or too classy to use them.

So, you offered choice items such as 'Borrow my Henchmen for a Day' or 'Free Limo Cleaning.' You did, however, think it would be pretty funny to offer more...intimate coupons. Maybe you were just bored, or maybe it's just been a while for you and you're projecting onto this piece of printer paper.

_ 'Free Night of Passion.' _

Too dramatic?

_ 'Free Hookup?' _

You sound like a drug dealer.

_ *lewd hand gesture drawing with question mark?* _

Yeah, that'll suffice.

When the party rolls around, you come to your senses a little. You shove the flimsy book under your jacket before you step into the mansion. 

You noticed the presents table was left  _ heavily _ unguarded. Probably because most of these villains were more interested in world domination and power than mere trinkets.

_ Expensive. Shiny. Trinkets. _

Nope. No. Too Risky. Too many villains that could easily grind your bones into dust.

You decide to write your name on someone else's gift. You spot a bottle of wine, and, since it wasn't personal to the gift giver, you scribble your name onto the tag. Nobody could blame you, it  _ was _ a party of super villains, after all.

The party went as smoothly as it could; Chilling like a villain, Chairface being a spoiled grown brat, excellent crab puffs… You have to admit, attempting to carve your name into the moon was pretty ballsy. 

All was well until American Maid and some other yahoos showed up. You weren't willing to fight for this wealthy wacko, so you booked it. You hid in the vents that were conveniently large enough for The Tick, his broad shoulders and two other people to climb around in. Since there wasn't much to do in there, you did what any sensible villain would do and took a nap.

Of course, since Chairface owned ninety percent of the income in The City, he swindled his way out of prison that very night without so much as a slap on the wrist. He wouldn't be doing much evil so soon after  _ that _ pathetic failure anyway.

When you woke up, you weren't even in the mood to loot the place. Mostly because metal vents were not the most comfortable place to sleep and you learned your lesson. You crawl out of the vent, eager to just walk out of the door without a second thought. Until, you hear the horrible wailing of an entitled pillock.

Oh, you  _ have _ to see this.

Carefully peering into the room and, sure enough, you found the source of all the racket. There was Chairface, splayed out dramatically on a chaise lounge. His new servant/eye candy, Dean, tried to offer him some of the leftover hor d'oeuvres, only to have the tray swatted out of his hands. Dean turns to leave the room, only to find you in his way. He doesn't seem to be in the mood to toss you out,  _ lucky you. _

"I just forgot my coat. Y'know, running from superheros and all."

He nods and steps out of the room. What with Chairface acting like a drama queen, he figured you wouldn't stay long.

You tiptoe into the room, and go unnoticed for a moment before he changes overly dramatic poses. He looks at you expectantly for a split second, as if to make sure you noticed him wallowing in emotional pain, before going back to his moaning.

"Heeeeeey, Chairface~"

"Oh, just take whatever you want and go." He weakly gestures to the table of presents.

Admittedly, it was tempting. You had to think about the long term implications of this, which was very difficult to do in the span of one minute. On one hand, free diamonds and other rich people commodities. On the other hand, you might not get invited back here again. You  _ did _ enjoy the festivities. So, you decided to suck up to the spoiled capitalist. It might get you invited to the next party.

"You really know how to throw a great party." 

No reaction.

"It might not be as great as defacing the moon, but you've got a pretty good haul over here!" You gesture to the table full of expensive gifts, though he's clearly not paying attention.

"Come on, why don't you go-" You try to lighten his mood as you pull him up to a sitting position.

"What's the point? Maybe I'll just give it charity." He huffs as he leans heavily on his hands.

You gasp and recoil away from him.

"Snap out of it, Chippendale! Do you even hear yourself talking right now!?" You grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

"All I hear is the sound of failure." He groans, shoving you away and rolling over on the couch to hide his face in the back of it.

Alright, so that clearly wasn't working.

You plunk down beside him on the chaise lounge.

"Come on, 'Face." You pull on his arm to make him sit up again, refusing to reason with a man while he was face down in a cushion that costs more than your rent.

"You're a smart man. If anyone can beat those so-called heroes, it’s you!”

You do the playful punching gesture to try and get him to buck up.

"Really, there's no one else that would ever think up the plans that you can conjure up."

You hear an over exaggerated sniffle, you're not entirely sure how he managed to make that noise. At the very least, he had quieted down and regained a slight shred of dignity.

"I've got one more gift for you."

He starts to perk up until you pull out the cheaply made booklet.

"A coupon book. Way to dig deep." He sounds incredibly unimpressed, but started flipping through the book anyway.

You lean on his shoulder to watch him scan the different ‘offers.’ He either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice.

"This one seems interesting." Your voice nonchalant, but your hands already ripping out the coupon and holding it up to his face.

He takes the coupon from you and reads it over for a moment. His face twitches. 

"I don't need your pity sex!" He tore up the piece of paper and threw the pieces in your face.

"It wasn't pity sex when I wrote it, it was birthday sex!" You snapped back at him, though there honestly wasn't much difference between the two.

"When was the last time you got your dick wet anyway? When you made your, now adult, child?" You teased as you leaned your head back on his shoulder.

His 'brow' furrowed at that accusation.

"There's no need to be so vulgar." He puts a hand to his chest to show his offense. "I simply have reason to suspect you have an ulterior motive."

_ "Oh, honey."  _ You purr sweetly as you wrap an arm around him. "If I wanted to rob you, I would have done so already."

He dare not doubt your claim.

"Has the thought crossed your mind that I might be trying to do something  _ nice _ for once?"

"' _ Something nice'  _ doesn't really seem like your style." He gestures the quotes with his fingers.

"Oh, right. You're rich, you're not used to taking handouts."

He can’t tell if he’s supposed to be offended or not.

"Even with a chair for a face, you're not  _ completely _ hopeless in the looks department." You lean back and rest your arms behind the couch. “So I get something out of it too.”

"I'll try to take that as a compliment." His tone overly dry.

"I'm evil, I'm not used to handing out compliments." You shrug.

“You don’t seem used to any of this.”

“Hey...Hey!” You glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying…” He holds up his hands to feign his innocence. “You don’t say a word to me all night and suddenly you’re all over me? It just screams  _ amateur. _ ”

“And what would  _ you _ have done exactly?” You point at him accusingly. 

“Not write my name on someone else’s gift, for starters.”

“I’d be happy to take it off your hands if you don’t want it.” You smirk, your eyes scanning back to the table littered with presents. “I think the coupon book is a better gift anyway.”

"I feel like even a bit of nookie still wouldn't cheer me up." He pouts, head turning away from you.

You wisely decide not to take that as an insult to your personal skills. He's just being grumpy because he could.

"Only one way to find out?" You smile knowingly.

For a man with no facial features, you swear you can see the gears turning in his head.

"Hmn, I suppose you're right…" His voice  _ definitely  _ sounds less moody. 

“You’re really setting the mood here with that enthusiasm.” You nod to him with the most unimpressed look you can manage.

“Oh, and how would  _ you _ set the mood?” He would roll his eyes if he had any.

You smile and quickly press a kiss to the side of his face.

He put his hand against the spot, as if to make sure that had really happened. For just a moment, he looks up at you with the softest furniture expression he's capable of.

“That,  _ for starters.” _ You throw his own words at him.

Your smile grows as you take his hand and pull him off of his fainting couch. He doesn't hesitate or dead weight this time.

While the chaise lounge is beautiful, it has now been associated with wallowing in self-pity, and thus, is unusable for this occasion.

You thought you had this whole situation wrapped around your little finger, before you tripped over the stone that separated the fireplace from the rest of the room. It definitely isn’t sexy if your sex partner accidentally breaks their nose. 

Chairface grabs you by the hips, saving you from what could have been a quick and unfavorable end to the evening.

"Careful now." He playfully scolds you.

You try not to look so embarrassed. It’s rather difficult with Chairface leaning over you and pressing his body against your own. You can already feel a bulge growing in his trousers.

You move past the fireplace, gently pushing him towards the rich person version of a Laz-E-Boy. He sits down and you perch yourself on the arm of the plush chair. 

You were expecting a Casanova out of Chairface, but you think that kiss may have messed with that head of his. It was surprising to see the usually smooth operator clam up like this.

"Since it's your birthday, why don't you sit back and relax?"

Cupping your hand against the side of his face, brushing your thumb along one of the front 'legs' on his chin and making him look up at you.

You hear him gulp.

"I'll be kind to you, just relax." 

He nods.

"You've had a long day, you deserve this." You hush, running your hands over his shoulders and giving them a gentle squeeze.

The poor guy looked like he needed it after his birthday fiasco.

Your first task was to get his clothes off. Why did these rich types always wear so many layers? 

Starting with his tie, you've thankfully done this countless times, so it comes off with minimal difficulties. Unbuttoning his vest, and then having to unbutton  _ more _ buttons, it's like he was the gift and you had to unwrap him. Y'know, if wrapping paper had buttons instead of tape.

Eventually, you're able to unfurl his shirt and he shrugs it off his shoulders. His very toned shoulders, actually.

You can feel his muscles start to relax when he starts breathing heavier.

He might have gotten huffy if you tossed his clothes just anywhere, so you toss them over the back of the chair.

You feel like normally, you would just pull down his pants and ride him like you were competing in the Kentucky Derby. For some reason, you wanted to savor this moment. A birthday only comes once a year and you wanted to make it extra special for this Moon Menace.

After all, you inspect a piece of furniture carefully before you buy it, right?

You give him a once over to actually see what you have to work with, and try not to look too surprised by what you find.

You were already being treated to a glimpse of his happy trail. He was pretty fit, and still had the evidence of a sweet Dad Bod. Just the right combination of muscle, stomach, and chest hair.

You finally look at where his neck connected to the back legs of the chair. It wasn't necessarily an unattractive feature, but you've never seen anything quite like it. 

"You're staring." His sudden interruption snaps you out of ogling. 

“I'm admiring the view." You declare, as if you  _ weren't  _ just staring at him intensely for the past minute.

Rubbing your hands along his chest and pressing closer to encourage him to put his hands on you. His hands smooth along the arch of your back, trying to worm their way up the back of your shirt.

For a man with no eyes, you sure feel like you're making eye contact.

“I think you’re staring now.” 

_ “Oh, you think?”  _ His stiles bend into a makeshift grin. 

You  _ have _ to wipe that look on his face.

Trailing your hands down his chest and stomach, causing him to shiver. One hand slides back up to his neck as the other hand unzips his pants and frees his erection.

You give it a few slow strokes and you’re rewarded with a strained sigh from Chairface. Grinding against him as your thumb teases along his head, already smeared with precum. Even through your clothes, you can feel the heat against your groin.

He clutches the front of his face as his digits dig into your back, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath he takes. A desperate whine comes from the chair beneath you and you suddenly feel a wetness along your thighs.

_ He just came. _

You haven't even shown him the goods yet and he's already blown his load.

There's a moment of deafening silence before he hurriedly pipes up.

"This, um...this usually never happens." He gestures with an open palm towards 'this,' but quickly glances away from the mess he just made.

He's trying so hard to disappear into the chair, like he wanted to pretend that hadn't just happened, though the evidence was overwhelming. The way he saw it, it was like he had his plans foiled twice in one night. Another stab at his already wounded pride. You really couldn't tease your way out of this situation.

You press a few kisses to his face.

Now he's just befuddled.

"Aw, was I too much for you?” 

There’s a grumble, but he can’t even muster the strength to be mad. 

"Did you really think cumming  _ one time _ would be the end of your gift? Frankly, I'm almost insulted.” You pretend to look hurt for a split second. "It's unlike you to give up so easily. The smart, competent Chairface I know knows one little bump in the road isn't the end of the world."

"I-” He starts, but he makes a frustrated noise when the words get caught in his throat.

“ _ IIIIII-I’m right?” _ You smirk knowingly.

He makes a slight snort and leans on his hand to look away, trying to avoid your gaze. You write this off as him still being self-conscious. 

"Either way, these need to come off." 

You climb off of his lap and take a few steps away from the chair, to give him a full view of the situation.

You had half a mind to wear a nice button up shirt to such a fancy party, and you were grateful for your past self’s thinking. You unbutton your shirt and let it fall off your shoulders and onto the floor in perfect 'It's me, Anastasia' fashion.

He sits up much straighter once you start undressing.

"I think I might be catching my second wind." He’s clearly still tired, but he’s not blind.

While Chairface is enjoying your little show, you’re focused on trying to perform said show as gracefully as possible. You're suddenly convinced that strippers never wear pants, and for good reason. Pulling them down is the sexy part, but actually getting them off your legs was another thing. You're pretty sure strippers usually keep their shoes on. That was like a rule, right? You might be thinking of a drag show. You hope you were doing this right, because you were tempted to rip off your clothes without thinking twice. You're getting naked in front of someone, you already deserve a prize.

You remove your underwear and Chairface shifts in his seat. His expression a mixture of joviality and deviancy. You take it that you put on a decent show.

Finally being able to return to his lap, you really hope you don’t look too frazzled after wrestling with your own clothing.

"Like what you see?"

"Very much, yes." His arms snake around your waist.

"Give me your hand."

He offers it to you and you place it palm up in your own hand.

"Two fingers, and push up, like a fishhook." You explain as you carefully bend his digits.

"I think you need a better metaphor…" Shaking his head lightly to dismiss such a thought.

When you’re sure he can at least figure out how to  _ start _ , you wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself and spread your legs.

Chairface takes a moment to admire the view in front of him. Gently cupping the outside of your mound, 'getting a feel for it', before his fingers brush against your opening. Parts of his gloves were already darkening from how wet you were.

He does as he was instructed, and pushes two fingers into you. His movements start out slow and purposeful, trying to see what particular angle got a proper response out of you. He was looking for any changes in your expression, your sounds, your body language, but started being a bit frantic with his movements when he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted.

You gently take his wrist and divert his motion ever so slightly. Your breath hitches as his fingers brush a sensitive cluster of nerves.

“ _ Right there.” _

Oh, 'right there' gets an excellent reaction out of you. He happily obliges, pumping his fingers into your slick cunt. When he gets a good rhythm going, his other hand is free to explore. Mimicking your moves from earlier, his hand dances over your chest, only pausing to flick his thumb over your nipple.

You grind your hips against his hand, allowing his fingers to slip deeper. Those long fingers curled so perfectly inside you, making you moan and mewl as you squeeze down on them. Losing your cool headed composure as you buck against his hand through your orgasm. 

You left quite the spectacle on his glove. He inspects the fluid for a moment before he tosses both of his gloves aside. You’re suddenly aware of him chuckling quietly. You never thought a chair could look so smug before, but there was a first time for everything.

“Noisy little thing, aren’t you?” 

“Oh, don’t get so cocky now.” You wouldn’t remind him that  _ you _ had to show him exactly what to do.

“I think it’s a bit too late for that.”

Fair enough, his member standing at attention once more.

“Are you ready for round two?” 

You didn’t want to tease him too much, preferring to get to the main event before he could cream his jeans again.

“But, of course. What do you take me for?”

You take that as a rhetorical question and go to work. Shuffling around his lap to get a better angle, while still trying to look sensual and not like an animal clambering over his thighs.

He makes a flustered grunt, but allows you to continue this  _ interesting _ display. 

Once you’re settled and done accidentally soaking his thighs, you take his cock in your hand. Giving the head a gentle squeeze before slowly sinking onto it with a low groan. His thick shaft stretching you and fitting rather snugly. 

A satisfied sigh escapes out of Chairface as the wet warmth envelops him. 

You ride him slowly at first, maintaining a rolling and steady rhythm. Being generous and stimulating him first with slower and fuller movements. Your nether regions already sensitive from your orgasm, you could already feel the tingle of pleasure building.

"You feel so good." You moan as you grind into him. "You fill me up so well."

An approving hum from your partner, his mind much too clouded with lust to say much else.

You start to pick up the pace as the pleasure grows in your core. You wrap your arms around his neck, bouncing in his lap with more necessity. 

You’re moving so fast, he can’t do much to keep up. His hands slide down your back, using the opportunity to squeeze your ass, but he was still at your mercy. Using him for support, you adjust the angle of your hips so his tip rubbed against sensitive inner walls.

His chest strains and heaves with every breath he takes. His quiet gasps had quickly turned into loud moans, on brand for his dramatic self. He can feel his own climax creeping on him, and he's powerless to stop it when you reach your own.

Your insides squeeze tightly on him as you shudder through your orgasm. Clinging tightly to his broad shoulders as the white hot pleasure courses through you. He's quick to follow, cum gushing out as his nails rake down your back.

The both of you rest for a moment, heavy panting and the roar of the fireplace the only sounds in the room.

You lift yourself off of him, a string of cum still connecting the both of you before you park yourself on his thigh again.

Neither of you have much strength left in you for any more sarcastic remarks. Before the both of you pass out, you press a few more kisses to his face.

_ “Happy Birthday, Chairface.” _

  
  



End file.
